When I came upon these roses at Faddegon’s, fresh from a rainy night and unfurling their petals in the morning light, I was instantly transported back to the summer of 2000, when I first met Andy. He grew roses in his garden, carefully tending and trimming them as necessary, occasionally clipping a bloom for his Mom or his living room. A man who knew his way around a garden was a good man indeed. That he took the time and care to share something beautiful with his Mom cemented the notion.
He favored the perennial rose favorite ‘Peace’ and tried his hand at ‘Mrs. Lincoln’. There was also an extremely fragrant tiger variety that was a deep pink, marbled with fuchsia – its beauty matched only by its exquisitely potent fragrance. I remember walking into his living room one evening and wondering at the delicious perfume – all produced by a single bloom in a little vase.
His prowess with roses was impressive, as it was one of the plants that always eluded my green thumb. He knew when to apply the fertilizer, when to protect the crowns for winter, and how to bring them all back to life each spring. Equally adept at preventing problems, he kept the aphids and beetles away, and managed to elude powdery mildew and rust, things that even the most skilled gardener can’t always keep at bay.
I was content simply to enjoy the fruits of his labor, as every few summer nights a new rose would appear in a vase by the couch, gently perfuming the air, reminding us of the beauty of the world when you put in a little work.
